


Steam

by Granger4013



Series: Vocabulary [2]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bering and Wells Gift Exchange, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granger4013/pseuds/Granger4013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very nosey, Bering-Wells youngin' goes snooping under the Christmas tree...and a little bit of holiday chaos ensues</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladytokyo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ladytokyo).



> Written for the Bering and Wells Gift Exchange for the lovely @ladytokyo over on tumblr. Merry Christmas everybody...may your day be filled with Bering and Wells loveliness!!

Myka’s fingers curled around her coffee mug, feeling the warmth seeping into her skin, helping to dispel the sharp pang of cold that was pushing against the window above the kitchen sink. She let out a deep sigh, eyes straying down to the watch on her wrist, before returning to the steadily falling snow accumulating in the backyard. Despite the lights that adorned the roof of their house, the lights that Helena had _insisted_ they put up, even though it had been icy and frigid and they’d both ended up with colds; despite the tree that was currently twinkling in their living room, the tree that they had, possibly foolishly, let Christopher pick out, which resulted in a tree that was practically taking up half their living room; despite the fact that it _was_ Christmas Eve, to Myka, it didn’t quite feel like Christmas. Absent-mindedly, she twirled her wedding ring around her finger, knowing that it wouldn’t feel like Christmas for another half an hour, it wouldn’t feel like Christmas until Helena was home. 

She’d been called away earlier in the week for an assignment that was declared top priority, and so even though it was a blizzard outside, even though it was almost Christmas, even though so many things, she had to go. They had known, when Helena accepted the offer to become a Regent, that this would happen eventually. That such a status would, sometimes, on occasion, make normal life difficult, just as Myka’s continued job at the Warehouse did. It was because of that, because they knew, because it was a new kind of normal, Myka was usually able to deal with it, the distance, the time away, the waiting. Tonight however, the fact of the matter was, it was Christmas Eve, and she was really, just ready for her wife to be home. 

A faint rustling sound from the living room pulled Myka out of her reverie. It didn’t last long, gone in a matter of moments, and her mind longed to tug her back into its reflections, until the noise came again, louder, longer. She set her mug down on the counter, a smile tugging at her lips, which she was glad the recipient of her forthcoming words couldn’t see, because all it would do was diminish their impact. She remained where she was, staring out the window at the snow, and shouted out, “Christopher Bering-Wells you better not be snooping under that tree.”

There was another rustle of paper before a tiny pattering of feet came down the hall. Myka was going to turn around, but she didn’t get a chance, her movements prevented by a body crashing into the back of her knees, tiny arms wrapping around her legs. Eventually, the grip lessened and Myka was able to turn and scoop her son up and into her arms. She tapped a finger against his nose, “Mum told you before she left, _no snooping_.”

Christopher bit down on his bottom lip, a perfect imitation of Myka, only in the form of a six-year old, “I know…” His eyes suddenly lit up, “But Mum isn’t here!”

Myka fought back the urge to roll her eyes. He might have looked like her, his hair a dark brown tuft of soft curls, his eyes a faint glow of green, but he had taken on Helena’s personality, hook, line, and sinker, always finding the right angle, the right argument. She raised an arm to tickle at his sides, “That doesn’t mean that the rules change, you little stinker.”

His laughter brought a deep settling of warmth into Myka’s chest. When it subsided, he sighed, “I wasn’t snooping…I was…I was _fixing an ornament_.” 

Myka shook her head, yes he was entirely Helena, always an answer to every possible scenario, “Ok, well…how about we wait to _fix any other ornaments_ until Mum gets home?”

He twined his fingers around one of Myka’s curls, “Ok…”

Myka kissed the tip of his nose, “Alright mister man, Mum will be home soon, so why don’t you go make sure all your toys are put away in there, and I’ll make her some tea.”

He nodded slowly, “K.”

Myka sat him down, smiling warmly at the quickness with which he turned and ran back down the hall. When he was back in the living room, she turned back to the cupboards, checking her watch one more time before pulling out the kettle. Just as she was getting ready to turn on the faucet, another wave of rustling filled her ears. She let out a small groan, her voice coming out a bit tighter, “Christopher…”

There was silence, until Christopher’s voice filled the house, a little shaky, a little scared, “Mom...one of my presents is on fire.”

The kettle hit the counter with a crash, Myka’s feet tearing down the hallway as fast as Christopher’s had moments before, yelling out as she went, “What?” She ran into the living room to see Christopher on his knees, nose pressed up against the wrapping paper of a present that was most assuredly…smoking. Myka got down next to him, pushing a forearm into his chest, trying to move him back from the gift, swallowing down the swirl of swear words that were tripping on the tip of her tongue. She poked a finger at the gift. It didn’t smell like it was burning, yet it was absolutely letting off steam. She looked at the tag; she certainly hadn’t put this gift under the tree. Written on it in Helena’s delicate scrawl was, “To: My Biscuit Love: Mum.”

Myka muttered under her breath, “Helena…what on earth did you do?” 

As if in answer to the question, Helena chose that precise moment to unlock the front door and step into the hallway, calling out, “I’m home.”

Christopher was on his feet in a flash, tearing towards Helena, “Mum!” 

Helena was able to drop her bag on the floor in time to catch Christopher in her arms, hugging him tightly, “Hello little Biscuit.”

“Mum! One of my presents is on fire!”

Helena’s eyes widened, “What on earth?” She set him down quickly, eyes tracking to where her wife was kneeling in front of the tree, poking at what appeared to be a steaming present, “Myka?”

Myka looked over her shoulder, “Ok, so I don’t think it’s on _fire_ , but something is seriously weird with this present. Helena, what is in here?”

Myka held the present up for Helena to see, holding it precariously between her fingers as though it was as dangerous as an artifact. When Helena saw what package Myka was holding, she burst out laughing, scooping Christopher back up into her arms and stepping into the living room, “For heaven’s sake Myka, you don’t have to hold it like you think it’s going to explode.”

Myka gave her an incredulous look, “Hel… _it’s smoking_.”

Helena turned her gaze to Christopher, eyebrow arching carefully, “Chris…were you snooping under the tree?”

Christopher looked down at his fingers, mumbling, “Maybe…”

“And did you _maybe_ poke at that present? _Maybe_ feel a button you could push?”

“Maybe…”

Helena let out a disappointed sigh, “Oh my darling boy…” She set him down, holding out her hands to Myka, who immediately placed the present in her arms. Helena sat down on the floor, pulling Christopher into her lap, “Looks like you get a present tonight.”

Myka sat down next to her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, before whispering, “Are you sure that’s safe for him to open?”

Helena rolled her eyes, looking at Myka in exasperation, “Do you really think I would give our son something dangerous darling?”

Myka bit her lip, “No, _no_ , of course not, but I mean, come on, _it’s smoking_.”

“It’s _steaming_ , love, and once he opens it, you will both see why.”

Christopher looked over at Myka, seemingly seeking permission, though his fingers were already toying with the edge of the paper. Myka let out a small sigh, “Go ahead bud, open it up.”

Immediately, he tore into the paper, flinging it in every possible direction, evoking laughter from both Helena and Myka. When all the paper had been stripped away, what he held in his hands was an intricate, very realistic looking, old fashioned steam engine, complete with steam puffing out of its smoke stack, “Wow.” He looked over his shoulder at Helena, “Mum, did you _build_ this?”

Helena chuckled, kissing the top of his head, “I did, just for you, my train loving boy. Merry Christmas.”

He set the train down carefully, and turned to throw his arms around Helena’s neck, “Thanks!”

Helena held him close, hand coming up to run through his curls, “You’re welcome sweet boy.”

After she let him go, Christopher scrambled onto the floor to better explore his brand new toy, allowing Helena to scoot closer to Myka, looping an arm around her waist. She placed a soft kiss on the underside of Myka’s jaw, “I must say, I didn’t expect my homecoming to be you declaring something was on fire.”

Myka smirked, “Hey, I said I _didn’t think_ it was on fire!”

“Darling, you were looking at that present like it was an artifact in need of an immediate dose of goo.”

“It was _smoking_ , Helena. How often does a present _smoke_?”

Helena’s eyes fell, suddenly feeling a wave of disappointment and uncertainty. She really hadn’t intended for Christopher to get his present this way, not after she had worked on it for months, and she certainly hadn’t expected to come home to a wife in complete panic mode, especially not over something that she had done. A wave of concern hit her that Myka might possibly be upset with her for her _overzealous_ approach to Christmas this year. She sighed, “I just wanted to do something special for him.”

Myka gave her a soft smile, kissing her temple, “I know you did sweets.” Myka glanced over to where Christopher was making train noises while pushing his new toy around the carpet, “I would say mission accomplished, I mean, look at that face.”

Helena smiled, though it felt strained, “He does seem quite pleased.”

**

One dinner, three hung stockings, and two bedtime stories later, Myka and Helena were curled on the couch, there was a fire going in the fireplace that was giving off a pleasant warmth and glow to the living room, while two glasses of mulled wine rested on the floor within reach of their fingertips. Helena leaned back against Myka’s chest, revealing in the feeling of Myka’s arm curling around her hip, fingers resting lightly against her lower abdomen. She settled deeper into Myka’s hold, feeling the fingers of Myka’s free hand come up to card through her hair. Helena couldn’t help but let out a small, contented sigh.

Myka pressed a kiss to the top of Helena’s head, “You’ve been a little quiet tonight.”

Helena grimaced, though Myka couldn’t see it. She couldn’t help but worry that Myka was upset about everything that had happened with Christopher’s gift, the stress, the worry, the _steam_. She knew it was most likely an irrational fear, but she couldn’t keep it from gnawing at the edges of her subconscious. She fought to push the thoughts back down, leaning her head back against Myka’s shoulder, kissing her cheek, “Just a little tired. It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Ah the life of a Regent…”

Helena let out a small chuckle, “Not nearly as glamorous as they made it seem.”

Myka’s fingers continued to move through Helena’s hair, letting the silence resettle around them, before whispering, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Helena felt her muscles release some of the tension they were holding. She moved her hand to link with the one Myka had resting on her stomach, “I am too love.”

Myka reclined back further against the arm of the couch, pulling Helena with her, relishing the simple feeling of having her home. They laid there in comfortable, relaxed, peaceful silence, letting the crack of the fire, the quiet hum of Christmas carols on the radio, fill the space around them. Myka’s eyes drifted over to the tree, watching the lights twinkle, the way some of the ornaments sparkled when they caught the light. Eventually, she traced her way down to the pile of presents that were under the tree and suddenly, she was unable to tamp down an uncontrollable wave of laughter. 

Helena raised herself up, looking over her shoulder at Myka, incredulity written all over her face, “Did I miss something? Or are we about to go on the next great Christmas artifact hunt for whatever has driven my wife to insanity?”

Myka clutched a hand to her chest, trying to calm herself, trying to get some semblance of words out, “No…no…I’m sorry…”

“I will goo you Myka Bering-Wells.”

Myka sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “You built our kid an honest to God steam engine…”

Helena’s forehead crinkled while her stomach clenched uncomfortably, “And this is cause for uncontrollable laughter?”

Myka’s laughter abated, which allowed her to finally notice the hint of offense that was apparent on Helena’s face, the ripple of worry that ran just beneath it. She swallowed down any residual laughter, bringing a hand up to brush the back of her fingertips against Helena’s cheek, “No, it isn’t.” She paused, considering, her lips screwing up in the crooked smile that she knew Helena found irresistible, “Well? Maybe? If you could have heard the way Christopher called out to me, you might be laughing too. Subtlety and six-year olds don’t mix. He literally just yelled out to me, ‘Mom, one of my presents is on fire!’ Then I run in to the living room like a mad woman and the kid is seriously nose to wrapping paper with this thing that is smoking. No fear, whatsoever. He looked exactly like you do when you’re faced with a potentially dangerous problem. No running in the opposite direction, just facing it head on, come hell or high water.”

Helena’s lips quirked in a tiny hint of a smile, “I may have had a bit of undue influence on his inquisitiveness.” She paused, concern creeping back into her eyes, “I am sorry that it scared you…”

Myka let out a small breath, eyes softening under Helena’s uncertain gaze, “Do not apologize. Hel… _you made our kid a train_ , you made a freaking steam engine that _works_ , and I _love_ that you do things like that, that you _think_ of things like that. I saw that train Helena. It had to have taken you _months_ to build, and the fact that you put in all that time and effort just to make him that happy, I can’t tell you…” Myka’s words faded as an idea crept into her mind. Suddenly, she was pushing her hands against Helena’s back, “Up, up.”

Helena looked at her in confusion, “Darling? What are you doing?”

Myka rolled her eyes, “I’m pushing you up.”

Helena finally followed Myka’s movements, sighing in exasperation, “Yes I can see that love, but _why_?”

“Because I actually _can_ tell you what things like this mean to me.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I should return to my Christmas artifact induced insanity theory…”

Myka sighed and shot Helena a small glare, “I’m not going insane.” She knelt down in front of the tree, reaching towards the back, fingers groping for the package she was looking for.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

“I want to give you your gift now,” Myka’s voice came out muffled, dampened by how far she was reaching towards the back of the tree. Finally, her fingers wrapped around what she had been searching for, “There you are!” She emerged from under the tree, turning towards Helena with a goofy smile on her face.

Helena couldn’t fight back the smile that pulled at her lips. She let out a small laugh, “Myka, Christmas morning is hours away. What on earth are you doing?”

Myka sank back onto the couch, tucking her legs underneath her, facing Helena, one hand reaching out to link with Helena’s, “If I give you this in the morning, Christopher will never let me take the time to say what I want to say when you open it. He’ll dive right back under that tree for his next present, and I _need_ to say some things to you when I give this to you.” She pressed the small box into Helena’s free hand, “Open it Sweets.”

Helena shook her head incredulously, “You _are_ insane. I hope you realize that.”

Myka shrugged, “Call me crazy all you want, I just want you to open up your present.”

Helena squeezed Myka’s hand, then used careful, delicate fingers to peel back the wrapping paper from the box. Eventually, she sat with a small, velvet box in her hands, fingers tracing over it carefully. She glanced up at Myka with already teary eyes, “Myka…”

Myka was practically beaming, “Open it…please.”

Helena cracked the box open slowly. Once it was fully open, the tears that had been building behind her eyes spilled forward, “Oh love…”

Myka turned the box and took out the ring that was inside. She had spent months working on the design with a jeweler, white gold, molded into an infinity symbol on top, a not-so-subtle nod to the tattoo that rested on her ankle that Helena had claimed as a symbol of their life together, always moving together, forever. Inside one loop of the symbol was a small sapphire, Helena’s birthstone. In the other was a ruby, which was Myka’s, and resting in the middle of them, in the center of the infinity symbol was a smaller emerald, Christopher’s. Myka reached out and grasped Helena’s right hand, slipping the ring onto her finger, and immediately entwining their hands. She took a deep breath, “Ok, so it might not be a steam engine,” she smirked, “but…Helena…there are times when I cannot even put together enough coherent words to explain what you…our life…our marriage is to me. For so long, I thought that this kind of life, this kind of _love_ simply just wasn’t in the cards for me, and I was alright with that, but God, then you showed up, and you just…you made me want this big, crazy, pathetically in love life, and the fact that we have it? The fact that we’re sitting here with stockings hung up, and a tree with ornaments that we’ve spent _years_ accumulating, and a kid tucked up in his bed who is such an amazing combination of you and I…it takes my breath away. I love you so much. I love that in this crazy world of _endless wonder_ , the universe saw fit to bring us together, no matter how unlikely that scenario seems. You and me? You and me and that crazy boy upstairs? It’s all I could ever imagine wanting, and knowing that we get to spend the next God knows how many years loving each other and watching Christopher grow up, well…that’s the best gift I ever could have asked for. _You_ , crazy, time-travelling, inventing woman that builds presents that _steam_ , you’re all I could have ever asked for…”

Helena brushed the edge of her thumb under her eye in a vain attempt to get her tears to abate, “You are…you are so many things Myka Bering-Wells, and I could spend all night reciting them, _however_ , our son will be up in mere hours demanding presents, so I will simply say, you are the absolute love of my life, and I completely and utterly adore my present.”

Myka leaned forward, hand cradling Helena’s jaw, drawing her forward for a kiss that was languid and slow, with a surge of heat just beneath the surface. Eventually, Myka pulled away sucking in a small breath, before letting it come out as a tiny chuckle. She rested her forehead against Helena’s, “I meant to ask…how _did_ Christopher manage to get that thing to steam?”

Helena laughed, “There’s a button on the side of it that makes that happen. He must have pressed it in the midst of his snooping.”

Myka’s laughter shook them both, “That boy…”

“He is something else…”

“Just like his Mum.”

Helena smiled softly, leaning forward and kissing Myka again, “Just like both of us love.”

Myka let out a soft sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind Helena’s ear, unable to keep herself from kissing her one more time, before pulling away to whisper against her lips, “Merry Christmas Sweets.”

Helena squeezed her hand, feeling her ring press against Myka’s fingers, “Merry Christmas my love.”


End file.
